Tattoo
by effie's head
Summary: To him, the story etched into his skin has always been the same. But things can change over 100 years, and one story can have many meanings.
1. Crowing Hen

**Tattoo**

_**Chapter One: Crowing Hen**_

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_"A bustling woman and crowing hen are neither fit for gods nor men_." 

It was one of those sayings that had been repeated so often, it had lost its meaning ages ago. Yet it held such simple and undeniable truth that it continued to be passed from generation to generation. Maisha had heard it from her grandmother and her mother; she hadn't been surprised to hear her own daughter mumbling the little rhyme to herself as she played pretend with dolls on the kitchen floor.

Maisha understood the truth of that proverb, for even as she strolled down the lane she couldn't help but overhear the gossip of her "bustling" neighbors.

"...daughter ran off with that boy..."

"...see that look on her face...?"

"...her hair, and that _dress_..."

She was above such pettiness, Maisha reminded herself. But, naturally, she took a certain pride in having information. And, as everyone knew, the best place for information was the front room of Miss Sanyu's inn, because the old woman knew everything about everything.

Maisha slipped through the door of the modest inn and, after allowing a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light, looked around. The room was the same as it had been for years. A low counter that served as the front desk sat in front of the far wall on which racks of keys hung between two windows. In front of the desk, quietly boasting its ornate carvings and just-polished gloss, sat an expensive dining table surrounded by plush and inviting pillows. And, a few paces away, a thick drapehung over the kitchen doorway. The only thing missing was the old woman.

"Miss Sanyu?" Maisha called out, her voice echoing in the empty front room. A moment later, the drape rustled and Miss Sanyu's pale face emerged from the doorway.

"Ah, Maisha," she croaked. "So good to see you. Please, sit down. I'll bring out the tea."

Maisha made herself comfortable as Miss Sanyu waddled from the kitchen with a prepared tray. Carefully, she set the matching kettle and porcelain cups on the table, and then slowly seated herself across from Maisha. She began to pour the tea, mouth twisted into a smug, toothless grin. _The old witch_, Maisha thought, _She's just been waiting for someone to come by. Whatever news she has must be too good to pass up_. If what people were saying was true, then Miss Sanyu had a right to be smug.

Miss Sanyu sipped delicately at her tea, still wearing that grin. Silently she waited for the younger woman to ask the right question. They both knew what she had come for, so Maisha wasted no time with small talk.

"Miss Sanyu, I heard the most unbelievable story!"

Feigning ignorance, Miss Sanyu played the game. "Is that so? And what did you hear, darling?"

"People are saying that the Avatar was in town last night. That he was here."

That smile again. "Of course he was. In this very room, in fact."

"So it's true! You saw him?"

"Mm-hmm..." Miss Sanyu poured more tea into her cup, offering no further explanation. A moment passed before Maisha urged her on.

"Well, what did you say to him?"

"I told him to turn right around, and stay away from my inn."

"What?" This time her shock was real, and disbelief left her unable to hold her tongue. "You told him to leave? Why on earth would you do that?"

"I didn't like those tattoos. There's nothing to like about Airbenders," was her simple reply.

Despite herself, Maisha snorted a small laugh into her tea. _Nothing to like about Airbenders_ - how ridiculous! How would she know? There hadn't been an Airbender alive since before Maisha was born. How could Miss Sanyu hate a people who didn't even exist? Then again...

She glanced at Miss Sanyu, face painted in a vain grasp at youth. The woman was nearly as old as time itself. Maybe she _had_ known Airbenders. Maybe she _did_ know something...

"What's not to like about Airbenders?" Miss Sanyu gave her a long, calculating look, and Maisha began to feel uncomfortable under her gaze. Finally, the old woman chuckled - a dry and grating sound.

"You young people are so naïve," she drawled.

_Young people_. Maisha smiled. From anyone else it would have been a compliment. "Well, enlighten me."

"Alright," said Miss Sanyu. "But I only tell you this because I know you aren't quick to judge."

_Don't flatter yourself._

Miss Sanyu bent low over the table and spoke quietly, as if afraid of being overheard "As far as I'm concerned, Sozin did the whole world a favor." Maisha didn't need to as what "favor" she was referring to. The former Fire Lord was infamous for starting the war and hunting Airbenders to extinction. Maisha said nothing, and Miss Sanyu took her silence as an invitation to continue. "You know about their temples?"

"Yes," Maisha answered, almost honestly. Sure, she had heard the stories. Mystical places floating among the clouds. But, as far as she knew, they were only legends - fairy tales she told to her children at bedtime.

"Secluded in those mountains...hiding from the world... They were right to hide, too. Because if the world had known what they were doing - mark my words - they would've been dead far sooner."

Maisha laughed to herself. Miss Sanyu was portraying the very epitome of a paranoid old woman. Her opinions were set in stone. "And what, exactly, were they doing up there?"

"Dark, strange things. Sorcery." Although skeptical, Maisha found herself curious. "They tattooed themselves with cursed needles. Devilish markings they used to channel evil spirits. Even worse was what they did to their children."

"Their children?" Maisha echoed.

"Oh, yes." Miss Sanyu's eyes were hooded and serious as she spoke, her voice hushed. "They took the youngest ones. They would steal a baby right from its mother's breast -" she made a sudden grabbing motion that startled Maisha. " - and take it to the temple. They tattooed even those little ones. Some people say you could hear the cries from miles away." She nodded sagely. "Barbarians. They deserved their fate."

Slowly, Maisha moved her porcelain cup from side to side. With unfocused eyes she watched fragmented tea leaves swirl in lazy circles. Miss Sanyu was exaggerating. The old woman was trying to shock her, to frighten her. She was making it up. She was lying.

"But, Miss Sanyu," Maisha said, looking up, "the Avatar is only a child, a harmless boy. If what you said is true, then he's just a victim. He doesn't deserve to be blamed for the wrongs of his people."

"Victim or not," she replied, "I won't allow evil to sleep under my roof."

Maisha straightened. "Of course not. There's no room for more."

It was Maisha's turn to smirk as she watched Miss Sanyu's expression leap from disgust to silent shock. Then her thin lips parted wide as she let out a loud, creaking, crowing fit of laughter. Miss Sanyu continued, body shaking in violent mirth as Maisha stood and left the inn without a word.

Outside, the streets were quiet. She hurried home, carefully avoiding the mud puddles left over from last night's downpour. The old rhyme repeated itself rhythmically in her head, in beat with her footfalls.

_"A bustling woman and crowing hen are neither fit for gods nor men_."

_Nor gods who are men_, she mused, smiling politely and waving at passersby. _Nor gods who are still boys._

* * *

_Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar, and can't think of a clever way to say it._

Note: This is chapterone of what will be afour part story from different points of view. Please, leave a review and let me know what you think!

- effie's head


	2. No Room

**Tattoo**

_**Chapter Two: No Room**_

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It was late, and Kin was preparing to lock up when the three of them arrived at his grandmother's inn. That day had been especially long and boring. A bunch of his grandmother's old lady friends had come over for lunch, and he had spent the better part of the afternoon listening to, "Look how _tall_ you've grown," and, "Look how _handsome_ you are," and, "Haven't you got a _girlfriend_ yet?" And _that_ had been the most eventful part of his day. Naturally, Kin was very annoyed with these late visitors who now delayed him from finding an entertaining way to spend the rest of his evening. A part of him was tempted to just send them away. But, that temptation faded as soon as he got a good look at them. 

The first to enter was a girl who couldn't have been much younger than he was. By her dark skin and hair, Kin instantly recognized her as a member of one of the Water Tribes. He had seen people from the Water Tribe before, passing through town. But they had all been grown men - soldiers or traveling merchants. Never young girls.

She stepped inside, glancing around cautiously and adjusting the straps to the bulky pack she carried. As she approached the counter, Kin noticed the tiny puddles her feet left behind. Was it raining? He groaned inwardly. He would be stuck inside tonight and, without a doubt, his grandmother would find plenty of chores for him to finish before going to bed. The girl made her way around the low dining table, splashing droplets of water onto the shining surface that Kin had just finished cleaning. They would leave marks.

Kin forced a smile.

"Hey, isn't it kind of late to be out?" He hoped she wouldn't notice the thinly veiled irritation in his voice.

"Yeah, I guess..." she muttered, without looking at him. Exhaustion oozed from the girl, and Kin almost let out a sad sigh in her behalf. Shivering slightly, wet hair plastered to her forehead, she looked pathetic. Kin watched as she fumbled around in her pack and pulled out a small skin pouch. She emptied it, and offered a handful of copper pieces. "Is this enough for a room?" she asked, but Kin didn't answer. Two more people had entered behind her, and Kin was sure he looked ridiculous as he stared at them, wide eyed.

If the girl had been pathetic, then these two were the epitome of misery. The tall boy was also a Water Tribe member, Kin could tell. He shuffled in supporting - practically carrying - another, smaller boy who moved with halting, uneven steps. Upon closer inspection, Kin realized that the young boy was limping. All three children were worn and spent, but this boy had been hurt more than his companions; covered in scrapes, cuts, and bruises, he grimaced in obvious pain.

Kin knew who he was immediately, but he had expected the Avatar to be taller. Countless times he had sat behind that very counter, listening to travelers share the latest news and gossip as they lounged around the table. As of late, the Avatar had been the topic of choice, and every week there was a new story. There was no way that this pitiful, dripping wet, half-conscious kid could be the same Avatar whom the Fire Lord himself wanted dead. The one who had single handedly destroyed a Fire Navy ship. The one who had challenged the king of Omashu, devious pirates, and wild canyon crawlers and lived. He couldn't be the one the world counted on for salvation.

But, he was. The tattoo, pale blue and unmistakable even in the wavering candlelight, silently testified to his identity.

"Is this enough?" the girl repeated. Her voice pulled him from his reverie. She dumped the coins into his hand and he counted them. She was a few coins short. There was enough money for, maybe, _half_ a room.

"That's plenty. You just need to sign in." He grabbed the logbook from beneath the counter and pushed it towards her along with a quill. Quietly, she thanked him, and he saw a small, relieved smile cross her lips before he turned to pluck a key from the wall behind him.

"There are no rooms." He jumped, startled, and turned to the source of the precise, clipped voice. His grandmother had appeared suddenly, and stood in the kitchen doorway. Hands tucked in her sleeves and lips pursed, she glowered at him. "They will have to leave," she said.

She must have been confused; they had only received a couple of guests all day. There were plenty of rooms open. "No, Grandma. It's okay, we still have some empty -"

"There is no room," the woman insisted.

Kin glanced at the girl. Her hand was suspended in the air, waiting and open. Blue eyes wandered from the key he held to the other keys hanging innocently on their hooks. Behind her, the taller boy vocalized the question her eyes asked wordlessly.

"What do you mean, _no room_? This place is practically empty! The keys are right there!" He pointed with one accusing finger.

Unyielding, Kin's grandmother turned to face the two boys. "There's no room for _that_ one." She practically spat. Kin followed her gaze.

For the first time, the Avatar looked up. The boy's face held a weariness beyond his years. Tense moments passed, and no one spoke. Kin didn't breathe - the air itself was fragile.

"That's okay." Gradually, painstakingly, the Avatar pushed himself away from his companion's shoulder. "You guys can stay here. I'll find someplace else to -"

He didn't have a chance to finish. "No, Aang. You heard what she said." Her voice was stronger now, defiant and defensive. So different from the sleepy murmurs she had uttered only minutes before. The girl glared icily at the old woman. "There's no room for us here."

The copper pieces suddenly felt heavy in Kin's palm. He dropped the coins into her extended hand and looked away. Distantly, he heard their fading footsteps and a gentle click as the front door slid shut. He heard his grandmother instruct him to mop up the wet floor, and wipe off the table. She left, and Kin was alone with the whisper of rain outside, and a feminine signature in the logbook. _Katara_, it read.

He crossed it out.

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_Disclaimer: I don't own Avatar, and can't think of a clever way to say it.  
_  
Note: If you got this far, then thanks for reading! And a special thanks to Black Phoenix1127, FireAzula, Spleef, alliwantislove, Liz Mizu, and Alicia Keyboard for the reviews of Chapter One. You are... the coolest! 

An unrelated note: According to my fortune cookie, _ji _means chicken in Chinese. So, does that make Lieutenant Ji...Lieutenant _Chicken?_! Hahaha...

- effie's head


	3. History

**Tattoo **

_Chapter Three: History

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_

He was trying hard not to wake either of them, but Katara hadn't slept much at all that night. Now, she was wide awake and watching him. Aang sat quietly at the entrance of the tent, barely illuminated in a sliver of faint light. With one leg bent underneath him he hunched over, carefully examining the untucked hem of his yellow shirt. 

"Aang?"

"Ow!" He jerked suddenly, startled by her voice. He shook his hand rapidly and hissed in pain. Katara wriggled out of her sleeping bag and crawled to his side.

"Sorry, Aang. I didn't mean to startle you. Are you alright?"

Dropping the sewing needle, he held his hand out to the light. A small drop of blood balanced on the tip of his finger, and he rubbed at it with his thumb. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's nothing, see?" The blood had smeared onto both fingers. He reached outside, and wiped his hand over the wet grass, flicking away the water.

As he moved the tent's flap, Katara felt a chill from outside. She waved her hands in front of her face, uselessly pushing around more humid air. Although the tent was big enough for all three of them, the space was cramped and comfortless. After a few hours the heat became nearly unbearable. Usually they would forget the tent and opt to sleep in the open air, but rainy nights made that impossible.

"It's way too hot in here," Katara said, standing. She stepped outside and lifted the flap, securing it to the side of the tent. As she reseated herself beside Aang, Katara shivered slightly. The cool air was such a change from the sweltering tent, and her body had yet to adjust.

"That's a lot better," Aang mumbled softly, and for a long while they were both silent.

Above them, the sky was only half alive. The crescent moon hung lazily in one corner, and a hazy, bluish hue adorned the other. It was just before dawn, the moment that bridged night and day, and the woods around them were strangely dormant. Too late for night creatures to move about, too early for birds to sing. The only sound was Sokka's breathing, heavy and steady.

She found it hard to imagine that only hours earlier rain had hammered the tarp in incessant rhythm, leaks had soaked their faces and blankets, and life had been miserable.

"I'm sorry, Katara," Aang said suddenly. "If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't be stuck out here in-"

"You don't have anything to be sorry about, Aang," she interrupted. "People like that…They're ignorant. You can't let them get to you." Even as the words left her mouth, she knew they were meaningless. _That's easy to say,_ she thought, and she knew Aang was thinking the same thing.

Unbidden, the memory rushed back to her, and Katara felt a swell of anger. What reason did that woman have to be so cruel? _No room_? How absurd – her inn had been nearly empty! In her mind, Katara could see Aang's face, downcast and humiliated, as Sokka helped him hobble out the door, back into the rain. If only that woman knew how Aang had nearly gotten himself killed, fighting off men who hopelessly outnumbered him. How he fought to end a war that he blamed on himself. The least he deserved was a bed to sleep in.

Looking back, she shouldn't have been surprised. The look on that woman's face…It wasn't the first time Katara had seen it. And, though none of them ever mentioned it, she was sure that Aang and Sokka had also noticed it before. She remembered the old fisherman's words. _You turned your back on the world_. Aang wore his mark for the world to see; people knew who he was, and there were those who hated him for being the Avatar. Howcould hehandle it, when even the people he wanted to help were against him?

She turned to Aang. "What are you doing up, anyway?" She wouldn't bother asking questions he didn't have the answers to.

"I couldn't sleep, so," he tugged at the hem of his shirt, "I was trying to fix this tear. It's not very good, though. I mean, you could probably do it better. And safer." He flashed her a smile carefully picking up the sewing needle. Katara squinted get a good look at his needlework. The two sides of the tear were sewn together tightly with dark thread and uneven stitches.

"It's fine," Katara reassured. "But, next time, do it inside out. That way the seam won't show." She watched as Aang flipped the end of his shirt over, revealing a nearly invisible mend. As he inspected it, Katara's eyes trailed from the seam in Aang's shirt to the one running down the back of his neck, disappearing into his collar. A solid blue arrow made of thousands of tiny pinpricks that, she guessed, must have hurt a lot more than the one on his finger.

_A thousand in one_. Ever since they had met, Katara had noticed things about him that were distinctly different, and uniquely _Aang_. They were small things – idiosyncrasies that played out in his speech, in his posture, in his walk, in his smile. Often, she wondered whether they were simply the quirks of a twelve-year-old boy, or vestiges of a people from a hundred years ago.

She thought back to when they had first left the South Pole, when Aang had taken them to the Southern Air Temple. She could picture the Sanctuary clearly in her mind – the thousands of stone statues, elaborately detailed and spiraling high into the dark ceiling. There was Aang, small among the endless rows. _It feels like I know them_, he had said.

She glanced at Aang, quietly lost in his thoughts. His gaze had shifted skyward, towards a slowly paling horizon. His eyes were glassy and unfocused. The remnants of a lost race, millenia of history wrapped in tattered clothes and bandages and blue ink. _A thousand in one_. How many times had he been hated? How many times had he been persecuted, hurt, alone?

How many times had he survived?

"It's never going to get easier," she said suddenly. Aang turned to her. For a moment he looked puzzled, then he nodded, solemnly.

"I know."

"But you're not going to give up. We won't let you."

This time he smiled. "I know."

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_Disclaimer: I don't own Avatar and can't think of a clever way to say it. _

Note: My thanks to Lady Serenity Moon Child and 1bzwriter for the reviews of Chapter Two!


	4. Tattoo

**Tattoo**

_**Chapter Four: Tattoo

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**_

It had taken three days to convince Katara to let them leave, two days before they had to start rationing food, and only one night for them to grow restless. 

The subtle rejuvenation that washed over the small band of travelers on that third afternoon was welcome and refreshing. It was something natural and primal, a feeling that came from the beginning of time and ran through the blood of generations. He tried to find a word for it. Freedom? Anticipation? Relief? He couldn't name it, but knew it only as feeling that was familiar. It was familiar to any nomad, and suddenly Aang realized exactly what he, Katara, and Sokka were. Nomads – and maybe the only ones in the world.

Laying on his back with Momo curled contently on his stomach, Aang watched the few wispy clouds pass slowly above him. Besides the steady breath of rushing wind, the world was silent. Sokka, he knew, was at the reins and Katara must have fallen asleep because she hadn't been over to check on him in quite a while. She had set up a doubled over sleeping bag as a prop for his still swollen ankle, and made a point of readjusting it and offering him another drink, another pillow, another blanket every few minutes. Though he hated to be a burden, Aang didn't mind her extra attention.

He glanced over the small mound of white fur, purring softly and tickling his belly, and examined his raised foot. The swelling had gone down considerably, and the sickly purple color had all but vanished, but it was still too painful to move or even wear a shoe. Bandages around his ankle kept the joint from moving, but his toes were getting cold. Above the cloth peeked the tip of a blue arrow.

Aang could remember the day he received his first tattoos. Even after a hundred years, the memory remained clear. He imagined that when he was very old – too old to walk on his own, or feed himself, or remember his friends' names, or even his own name – he would remember that day. The pungent scent of incense, the murmuring of prayers and chants, the nervous tremble in his stomach. The memory would stay with him until he died, like the story in his skin.

The entire process had taken one excruciating month. Suddenly, Aang was in his room at the temple, lathered in salve and barely able to move as his friends crowded around his bed.

_Did it hurt? they wanted to know._

"_Of course it hurt."_

_Did you cry? _

"_Did I cry?" he echoed wryly, and laughed. He laughed because the truth was that he had cried – a lot – but they didn't need to know that._

Aang sighed. He had been happy to show off his tattoo then. Now there were times when he would give anything to hide it. Then it had set him apart as different from his young group of friends. Now it separated him from the world.

He took a deep breath and tried to empty his mind of dispiriting thoughts. He'd had more than enough time to think during the three days they were camped, but he hadn't come to any satisfying conclusions. Despite his efforts, Aang couldn't keep his mind from wandering back to that night, searching for answers.

Of course, it hadn't been the first time in his experience that someone had been inhospitable. He could recall a few instances, while traveling with his friends from temple, when they were forced to run in the rain from one house to the next before they found someone kind enough to share their roof for the night. Other times people would eagerly invite them in to eat or sleep when the weather was fair, beckoning them with frantic waves as they flew overhead. There was no telling what sort of people they would stumble upon. So it wasn't the old innkeeper's refusal that bothered Aang.

What bothered him most was her eyes. Her eyes had helda hatred that had, for a moment, crippled him more than his wounded ankle. And there was something else he saw there. Fear. He almost laughed. Why would anyone be afraid of him – a big-eared, goofy, twelve-year-old kid?

A big-eared, goofy, twelve-year-old kid with a giant arrow carved into his forehead like a glaring sign that read, "Here he is, everyone! Here's the kid you've been waiting for!"

The tattoo meant a lot to him, even more now than when he first received it. And, he realized, it meant a lot to everyone else, too.

If there were any answers, Aang doubted he would find them. In the air now, as in the camp, there seemed to be some unspoken pact that none of them would speak of that night anymore. Or, at least, not for now. They had other things to deal with, like saving the world. There was no time scrutinize the past. For three days they did a good job ignoring the little town, just out of reach, as Aang's wound's refused to heal, as they ran out of food. As far as they were concerned, it didn't exist; they would get what they needed someplace else. And now they were leaving, on their way to "someplace else," and they would move on from there, and they would keep going.

Momo stirred on his stomach and shifted to a more comfortable position. Again, Aang turned his attention to his elevated foot. As long as he was careful, Katara had reassured him, and didn't walk on it for a while, it would heal. He hoped that would be soon, because he was getting tired of hopping around on one foot.

Half hidden by the bandages, the blue arrow pointed steadily upward to an even bluer sky.

* * *

_Disclaimer: I don't own Avatar, and can't think of a clever way to say it. _

Note: That's all folks! Thanks for sticking with me, and I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. A few people mentioned that Aang's tattoo may not be manmade, and you may be right, but for the sake of this story, it is. To whirleeg, Phantomhobbitses, NightSkye 18, 1bzwriter, Seriously Yours, 1225491, and Kishi - thanks for the self-esteem boost.

- effie's head


End file.
